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“Of course.” As he was helping Lady Sanborn, Henry Cairo offered his hand to Chastity Reynolds and proceeded to assist her into the boat where he quickly claimed the seat beside her. Robbie’s brow furrowed with his displeasure.

He waited for Jack to help Miss Crockett over the gunwale and take a seat beside her on one of the forward benches. Seeing the other guests had claimed seats, Robbie climbed in and gave the bow oarsman a nod of polite acknowledgment as he joined him on the forward-most bench. The oarsman tugged his forelock in a gesture of respect.

Robbie sat with his back to the bow like the boat’s crew so he could watch the passengers, one in particular. Cairo leaned close to Miss Reynolds to whisper something in her ear that made her cheeks flame. Robbie pressed his lips together, resisting the temptation to throw him over the side.

The crew took to the oars and soon they were looking up at the yacht’s black hull. The crew shipped the oars and waited as a bos’n’s chair, rigged to the end of a spar, was lowered to the gig to allow the ladies and anyone else who wanted to use the chair to be hoisted onto the main deck. It was evident to Robbie that the crew had done this many times for the king and his friends, because they executed the maneuver with flawless efficiency.

He watched Chastity Reynolds, wondering what her reaction would be. He smiled to himself when she quite happily slipped into the chair and beamed her joy as she was sent aloft, like a child experiencing her first swing. Her friend, however, was a bit skittish until Jack convinced her it was safe and, though it swung about, would not dump her into the sea.

Except for Robbie and Jack, the men who had come with them also ascended to the deck via the chair. It was certainly the easier path, but where was the fun in that?

When the others were securely onboard, Robbie said to Jack, “Our turn,” and grabbed the knotted manrope hanging next to the steep boarding steps built into the side of the ship. Even as a boy, his father had expected him to scale the steps. Had he not learned quickly, his older brothers would have ridiculed him.

As he began climbing, he looked up to see Miss Reynolds peering down at him from the rail, her eyes wide and her brows uplifted. He smiled to himself. If this impressed her, he could show her more.

Like Robbie, Jack was accustomed to climbing the rigging, so he grabbed the manrope and followed Robbie up the steps and through the cutout in the gunwale to join him on deck.

Letty, standing nearby, let out one of her famous oaths. “Hell and damnation, Powell. If only I had on breeches, I would have joined you.”

Robbie grinned. “I do believe you would.”

Letty turned on her heels and strode off toward her husband, grumbling about the restrictions of a lady’s attire.

The king, who, with his mistress, was in the process of welcoming his guests, left them to cross the deck to Robbie and Jack, a satisfied smile on his face. On his chest, the king wore the ribbon and Star of the Order of the Garter. “I might have known you two would come up the side. Well done!”

Chastity felt the yacht shift with the incoming tide as she watched the king greet Sir Robert. By all appearances, they were on very familiar terms. Not for the first time, she wondered what The Rogue had done to earn the king’s favor and a baronetcy. The hereditary honor had sometimes been awarded to returning soldiers who had distinguished themselves in the war with France. He would have been in his mid-twenties then. Perhaps it was something to do with a battle on the sea that helped defeat England’s enemy. Jack had mentioned their fathers had been privateers. Yet neither of them was called “Sir”. The vicomte’s father had been the comte de Saintonge even before the French Revolution and Aunt Agatha had referred to Sir Robert’s father as Mr. Powell.

She and Rose stood next to the rail as Aunt Agatha crossed the immaculately clean deck toward them. “Come, dears. Lady Conyngham is asking the ladies to go below.” Then as a gleeful aside, “We’re to dine in His Majesty’s great cabin!”

Chastity followed her great-aunt and the other women, wondering what a “great cabin” looked like. Over her shoulder, she glimpsed the men, Sir Robert among them, lingering behind, talking with the king. Of what did they speak? Possibly something more interesting than the women would offer.

She paused at the companionway leading to the lower deck. The polished mahogany with its gilt moldings was something she would have expected in a fine townhouse in Mayfair. She thought it opulent for a seagoing vessel but then, this was Prinny’s own and, if the Pavilion was any example, the king never scrimped when spending the government’s money.

“Mind your head, Miss,” a sailor cautioned, as Chastity stepped onto the ladder leading down. “You will find the ladder is wider than the ordinary by the king’s orders.”

The angle of descent was still uncommonly steep to Chastity’s mind and, though there was another sailor at its base, she would have to transverse the length of it alone. As Rose was behind her, Chastity wanted to show courage, for her friend was already looking peaked. Turning to face the ladder, she braced herself with one hand on the side rail while lifting her gown with the other, and carefully made her way down.

It was the first time she had been on a large vessel of any kind. The small boats they used in the summer on the River Nene in Northampton for fishing and pleasure were half the size of the boat that had conveyed them to the yacht.

Relief flooded her as her feet touched the deck. She looked up and encouraged her friend, “’Tis not hard, Rose. Just go slowly.”

Rose had decided to descend with her back to the ladder. Halfway down, the sailor reached for Rose’s hand. “Here, Miss, let me assist you.”

Rose accepted with a grateful smile.

The great cabin where they were to dine occupied the entire stern from side to side. The panel work in the cabin was carved in a dark wood with gilt moldings.

The windows, both stern and side, were of plate glass, flooding the cabin with light. Through the clear glass, she glimpsed the water on three sides with the shore beyond. Above, a skylight shed more light, illuminating a Brussels carpet beneath Chastity’s feet.

A ship’s lantern hanging from the skylight added a glow to the long mahogany table that was set for fourteen. White china, banded in gold and imprinted with the royal arms, made a regal statement. Chastity had never seen a table setting so fine except for that in the Pavilion. Crystal glasses for water, wine and cordial were set at each place.

The chairs surrounding the table were covered in red velvet casing, in addition to which ottomans and sofas were placed about the large cabin.

On a sideboard, decanters of liquor filled a polished wooden box, the kind that could be secured when at sea.

Against one side of the great cabin, to her amazement, stood a pianoforte.

“My, but this is lovely,” Aunt Agatha remarked to the dark-haired Lady Conyngham bedecked with jewels for the evening. To Chastity’s chagrin, neither lady had experienced difficulty navigating the ladder. It gave her some comfort to realize her great-aunt was always up for an adventure and likely had sailed before, and the king’s mistress had doubtless descended those same steps many times.